And Kill Them All

speak, but nothing came out. On the third or fourth attempt the clearly agitated girl finally sputtered, “Whawha- what do you mean?”

“Who was your father, Clem?” I repeated. “What was his name?”

“Webb, of course. Just like mine. What else would it be?”

“No, his given name. What was his given name?”

“Nathan. Nathan. Nathan Hawthorne Webb.”

I bent closer. My gaze narrowed. “From Austin? Your father, the man Boz and I buried just a few hours ago, was none other than Nathan H. Webb of Austin?”

The girl humped up at me a bit when she said, “Yes. Yes, Nathan Webb was my father.”

Boz pushed his hat onto one side of a sweat-drenched head. He scratched at a spot above his ear. A look of puzzled consternation and confusion crept onto his craggy, weather-beaten face. “Nathan Webb? We don’t know anybody named Nathan Webb, or Nathan H. Webb, or whatever’n hell she just said. Do we, Lucius?”

Let my hands fall away from Clementine’s shoulders. Suddenly felt tired, stumbled back a step, then straightened up and said, “We might, Boz. Yes, indeed. We just might. Leastways, I now have a pretty good idea who the man once was before we found him this morning.”

“Who? Who do we be knowin’ name a Nathan Webb, Mistuh Dodge? I doan be rememberin’ no one like that,” Glo said.

“Minor Texas politician. One of the lesser lights in the great Lone Star State’s political heavens. Senator, as I recall. You boys rarely bother to read those newspapers friends of mine have sent me from Austin. Otherwise you might’ve seen the name,” I said. “If a stretched-to-the-limits memory still serves, this child’s father was the elected representative of the good folks down around Uvalde. That right, Clem?”

“Yes. My father is ...” She stumbled for a second, appeared confused, then quickly regained her shaky composure and continued, “. . . Was, he was, a Texas state senator. We live—or did live—in Uvalde during those times when Papa doesn’t—didn’t—have to be in Austin on the business of the people. We have a house at Number Twenty-three Pecos Boulevard.”

Boz moved closer to me and the girl. “What were y’all doin’ way and the heck over here on the backside of nowhere Texas, so far away from home, child?”

“Camping.”

Pretty sure Boz had already deduced as much himself, but he still sounded mildly incredulous when he shook his head, frowned, and grumped, “Camping?”

Finally, given something she could grab hold of to occupy her scattered mind, Clementine Webb appeared to grow stronger, more tenacious and controlled with our pointed questioning. A distinct, huffy resoluteness tinged her voice when she replied, “Yes. Camping. A week or so ago Papa rushed home early from his office. Said he’d decided to take us all camping. Said he needed a few days away from the cares and worries of civilization and the burdens of political responsibility. Said what we all needed was a family trip. There was nothing wrong with that.”

It sounded like an echo when Boz mumbled, “A family trip?”

Clementine’s voice became icier. “Exactly as I said, Mr. Tatum. So, he and my mother packed a few necessities into the wagon. The whole event seemed a bit hurried, now that I come to think on it. At any rate, we struck out the next morning and, three days later, arrived here by the river. My mother deemed it a lovely, inviting spot.”

“No doubt ’bout that, missy,” Glo mumbled.

Boz shook his head. “A lovely, inviting spot,” he muttered.

“Not sure why, but I got the impression she and my father might have visited this particular spot before. In any case, we’ve been camped right here ever since.” Clementine’s voice faded as she scratched the dog’s fly- notched ears and added, “And we were having a right wonderful time—a right wonderful time. Until this morning.”

I stepped away from the dewy-eyed, flush-cheeked child, turned and gazed up at thick, roiling, puffy-white clouds, threw one arm across my chest and rested the other atop it. Striking a thoughtful pose, I tapped my chin with one finger.

To no one in particular, but loud enough for Boz to hear, I said, “Then, out of the clear blue, some of the worst men in all of Hell and the great state of Texas showed up and killed everyone. Entire family. All of them but this one child. Why? Why would men like Murdock, Atwood, and the Pickett brothers follow the upstanding family of an innocuous Uvalde politician all the way down here to our front doorstep, commit such an odious act, then beat a hot path for Del Rio? Now, there’s a puzzler. A real, blood-soaked puzzler.”

I came out of my self-imposed cave of deep thought when Boz made an all-inclusive sweeping motion with one arm and said, “Well, by God, don’t matter one whit to me why murderin’ skunks like Murdock, Atwood, and them sorrier’n hell Pickett boys showed up here on the banks of Devils River. Only thing as matters to me is what they went and done, Lucius. And what they done was murder five people, mostly children, on land we’re responsible for. Far as I’m concerned, we need to be hot on their trail right damned quick and put this sorry deed to right. Hang the men who had a hand in this mess, or kill ’em all. Quicker the better, by God.”

Glo stood, snatched up his long-barreled Greener, and laid it in the crook of one arm. “You know me, Mistuh Dodge. I’ll ride five hundred miles outta my way to avoid any kinda gunfight. But in this instance, Mistuh Boz is right. Men as would kill innocent women and chil’ren need sendin’ to the good Lord for His heavenly judgment. Figure if we hit the trail, right quick-like, probably catch Murdock and that bunch with ’im whilst they’s still eatin’ and drinkin’ and womanizin’ at Mendoza’s. Then, we can send ’em on their way so’s Jesus can usher them on to Hell, where they can shake hands with the Devil hisself.”

I shot a resolute gaze back and forth from one grim face to the other. “What about Clementine?” I said.

Boz waved the question away as he said, “Guess we probably need to take her on back to the ranch. Leave her with Paco. Figure he can take care of ’er till we can get back.”

Glorious Johnson shook his head. “No. Cain’t do that, Mistuh Boz. Gonna use up a buncha valuable time makin’ a trip all the way back down to the ranch. Then we be havin’ to come back out here ’fore we actually gets started after them sorry killers.”

Boz slapped the oiled, walnut grips of the glistening pistol strapped high on his hip. “Well, we damn sure cain’t let this here little-bitty girl ride along with us, Glo.”

It surprised the heck out of all three of us when Clementine Webb snapped, “Don’t you dare talk about me like I’m not here.” Looking angry enough to bite the head off a ball-peen hammer, another round of tears piled up in the girl’s eyes and, one at a time, streamed down reddened cheeks. “I’ll not have you ride off and leave me. No, by jiminy, that’s not about to happen.”

“Well, what would you have us do, little missy?” Boz said.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the scene. Got so quiet the whispery rustle of cottonwood leaves on the near-undetectable west Texas breezes became readily apparent. An attentive listener could have easily perceived the sound of water in Devils River as it trickled past and headed south for the Rio Grande.

Me, Boz, and Glo locked our gazes on Clementine Webb and waited. For some seconds the girl appeared incapable of bringing her wounded gaze off the ground. Bear sat up, nuzzled her hand, and leaned against the girl’s leg when she scratched his ragged ears. The three of us couldn’t do much but fidget and paw at the ground with the toes of our boots.

Finally, Clem cut a nervous glance at her family’s piteous gravesite. Stooped and a bit defeated-looking, of a sudden she came erect. She snapped her shoulders back in the manner of a young soldier recently called to action by the sound of trumpets, drums, and the possibility of quick death.

The gal wiped leaky eyes on the back of her arm, pointed at the grave, then said, “You’re not leaving me behind, and there’s the reason why. I’ll be going along with you to find the men who did this.”

Be willing to bet that less than half a heartbeat had passed when I snapped, “Now wait a minute, Clem. I ...”

So quick I could hardly fathom how it happened, Clementine Webb was standing on the toes of my boots, her trembling finger almost pressed against the end of my nose. “You can’t leave me here, and I won’t let you take me to your ranch so Paco, whoever in the wide, wide world that is, can take care of me. If there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s a Mexican caretaker.”

“We only have three horses, Clem,” Boz offered.